


& i am ugly, full of lies.

by parthevia



Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Cutting, Delusions, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Obsessive Behavior, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parthevia/pseuds/parthevia
Summary: i don't want to be your god anymore.
Relationships: Charles Eyler/Vincent Fennell
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

i need you more than you need me.

* * *

perhaps he was biased, and manipulative, and disgusting, but he didn't care. not in that moment, however. 

he and vincent were nothing short of lovers, but didn't like to refer to it as such. with a shared apartment that remained possibly the cleanest place on the entire planet, charles would go to his shitty retail job to pay the rent, whilst vincent would stay home and work on his novel. they're seniors in college, neither with high hopes for the future, and attempt to find comfort in each other that's never feasible. 

but, he thought that was okay. it was manageable. vince was learning how to properly deal with someone he desired to love while that person was idolizing him to no end. charles was learning how to see vince as more than just what he wanted to see. he loved vincent more than anything he had ever loved before. vincent liked charles. 

so charles couldn't understand why he came home from a long day of being pestered by customers and dousing his blistered fingers in hand sanitizer (that smelled like tequila, mind you, it made him gag), to this. 

dropping his car keys on the table, there wasn't many places his partner could be hiding. their living room, a compact kitchen, bathroom, and their bedroom. 

he found him laying on the mattress with no bedframe, a fresh, blood coated razor lay next to him. and charles briefly felt irritated over the fact that it was staining their blanket. 

"Fennell." he managed, out of his customer-service voice for the day, kneeling on the carpet beside the bed. "I know you're just asleep." 

if vincent was going to kill himself, there was be no doubt in it. it wouldn't be so melodramatic. he would be gone. 

and he was right on that. vincent's grey eyes opened, sleepily. "Ah. Welcome home, Eyler." he usually wouldn't of disturbed him, keeping the principle that if vince was asleep, he should be allowed to rest for as long as he wanted. 

but it was different when he had clearly been hurting himself. 

you'd think that the blood from him would've be tainted . . . impure, because it was a bodily fluid, and all of those were deemed horrific by charles— even his own. 

but he was so out of his mind that all he saw was a beautiful, pale shade of lavender leaking out of his partner's arms.

not even his blood was parasitic. 

"It's fine. I fell asleep before I could clean up." 

"Don't give me that." he didn't know much about vincent's true nature. but he did know one thing. "If you did not want me to see it, I wouldn't be seeing it right now." he was too cold. too calculating. too precise. there was no feasible way he had ' fallen asleep. ' 

"Show me." 

and so he did. 

holding out his frail wrist, the entirety of his inner forearm was leaking, and it was beautiful, because it was vincent. they weren't as methodical as usual, but rather slashes that took the form of laziness, it seemed. deep ones, ones that went across, ones that went vertically . . . all leaking of the same violet blood. 

but it needed to be cleaned, or it would be infected. and vincent couldn't be infected. 

"If you didn't want me to know we wouldn't be here right now." his voice shook, but maintained a tinge of confidence. he had something to prove to his god, in this moment. 

vincent's murky stare locked with his, and the mask he wore so often was cracked. it had always been, but day by day with charles, it deteriorated even more. 

"Charles." 

. . . 

"Tell me the truth, Charles."

to his dismay, he knew exactly what vincent meant, and that implied that charles had lost the game entirely. vince knew. 

and he couldn't lie to him, even if he wanted to. 

"Mr. Fennell . . . it's lavender." 

the ice returned, glazing over the hint of a person that was there before, and charles felt so helpless. so vulnerable. it was a strange feeling, considering his partner was the one showing his fresh cuts. it should've been him.

but vincent was never vulnerable. 

"Blood is red. My arm is red. The bed has dried stains, which are brown." he punctuated each statement further than the last. 

charles dropped his gaze. "I know. I don't know. Is that why you did this? Did you want to know what I would see?" 

dear heavens, it was all his fault, wasn't it. vincent was cutting because of him. vincent was hurting himself because of him. vincent was doing this because charles was hurting him. it repeated in his mind like a mantra. 

and he didn't expect vincent's erratic behavior, because it was so unlike him to exhibit. he had pushed the razor in-between charles' fingertips and moved his hand with his own, across his arm. he hated it. but it was still purple. 

and then he did the same thing, but this time, with charles' left arm. he was forcing him to make the mark. to prove a point. and it stung. it wasn't particularly deep or intense, but it still hurt. 

"Red, isn't it?" 

anri would always warn charles about how she got a bad vibe from vincent, to which he'd respond that he was perfect in every which way. and he still believed that, even if vincent was hurting him. gods punish their worshippers. it's a commonplace. 

"Yes. Mine is red." 

that sinister smile that was painted onto his expression all throughout highschool was now staring at charles, dead on. and he hated it. 

"Why is it that you can't treat me like a person? You promised to make an attempt to allow me to see you as an equal. You promised that you wanted me to feel less alone. So why is it, that we've been "dating" for years now, but you still have never seen my face? What is the point of this, Charles. Why would I ever stay when you have made a clear point of not trying to do anything for me." 

. . . 

"Furthermore, you think you're doing things for me, which is the worst part. In your world, you're a devoted follower that does all for me, and you refuse to acknowledge how everything you do is to satiate your own mind. A control freak."

. . . 

"I would rather be being beaten by my father than attempt to falsely validate your religious delusions of me." 

he nodded in understanding, but didn't dare look at the look on vince's face. it would be like the one he used back then. 

"All you do is agree with me. You have absolutely no input except silently saying I'm right?" 

". . . Vince,"

"Don't drop your formalities now, Eyler. I'm Fennell, to you." 

he wanted nothing more than for vincent to stop talking to him like this and to do what they always did. he just wanted to crawl into their shared bed and hold him and know that he was safe with him. but it felt like an unattainable dream, now. 

"I just don't know how. I can't help it." his voice was barely a whisper. he didn't want to argue, if you could consider this an argument. it wasn't like there was two sides. charles agreed with vincent. 

but this sort of situation, involving a copious amount of built up tension, was the most emotional he'd see vincent for a while. and it was nice, almost. 

it made him feel human. 

"Look at me." 

vincent had tears welled up in his eyes. 

"I'm not your God." 

they had begun to spill over and onto his cheeks. 

this had never happened, in all of the years that he had known him. 

"I don't want to be your God." 

. . . 

"I don't want you to be my God, either." 

a new revelation, an idea. 


	2. i need you to go on without me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, changes in capitalization in order to denote the primary speaker. not much dialogue here, just vincent thinking 
> 
> this will probably be a series ive decided

i can't hold your heart anymore.

* * *

If there was one thing Vincent Fennell wanted to do in that moment, it was fucking scream until his throat bled. 

Shredding his vocal cords was no solution to his problem, but he was so, so tired of this. He knew what he was getting himself into with Charles, but he hadn't expected it to be so physically draining. 

But instead of the argument he so desperately wanted to have, he got a hollow conversation that one could barely say was one. He always just agreed. There was no fight. There was never any actual talking between them. Just him, and Charles parroting back in agreement. 

He'd never cried in front of Charles. 

Or anyone, really. 

His father could have knocked out his teeth as a child, and Vincent wouldn't of shed a tear. He'd learned better than that, it was easier to avoid such a vulnerable display of emotion. 

It was almost foreign to him, hotness streaking his generally cold cheeks, causing them to flush unnecessarily. He just wanted Charles to understand. He just wanted anyone to look at him and understand, but instead, Charles looked everywhere but him. 

And it hurt, day in, day out. 

It seemed as though something had clicked with Charles, which could be observed on his expression once the declaration of not wanting to idolize Vincent any longer came back, but Vince wasn't nearly as naïve as the boy that sat before him. 

Some of the tears dripped down his nose, landing directly in the fresh wounds, making them sting even worse. 

"Hysterical. I've heard that one." He usually carried an icy demeanor on accident, but this was an intentional way to box Charles out of any possible conversation they could have. 

Charles saw lavender. 

Vincent saw crimson. 

They would never be able to understand each other, solely based on that little coloration difference. Because Vincent was correct, and Charles was delusional. 

For someone that had been incessantly told to be wary of him, Vincent pondered if Anri knew of Charles' true self. The one that sat in front of him. The control freak that lived in his own demented world. 

And it was cruel, for Vince to think as such. But he'd never claimed to be a merciful God of Charles' false world, nor a God of it at all. 

"Charles." 

Eyes snapped up to meet his, cat-like yellow eyes staring solemnly. They felt empty. And Vince didn't know what to tell him. 

"I don't want you to lose yourself in me." He knew Charles wanted that more than anything. The predominant problem facing their relationship is that Charles wanted to be anyone but himself. 

And it hurt to watch that occur. 

To observe the only person you've ever felt love for, attempting to meld himself into a different persona in order to maintain your attention. It made Vincent sick to his stomach, because in the flecks of time that he saw Charles, even briefly, made him understand. 

Vincent Fennell wanted Charles Eyler. 

. . . 

It wasn't love, but he wasn't sure what to call it. 

Not a copy of himself, he'd spent too much time trying to maintain that hivemind, and just ended up more miserable than before. He'd really been dealing with a clone for years, with Charles' behavior. 

He didn't want Scarlett. Charles' mother wanted Scarlett. Not Vincent. 

He didn't want Charlotte Wiltshire. Charles' wanted to be her, for again, his mother. He wanted to be Charlotte for Anri. He fabricated that personality in his own world, to try and be that person for the ones he wanted. 

It was so frustrating that Vincent saw through Charles like a goddamned open book, but all Charles saw in him was an idol. 

Most religions don't even like idols, which was the most curious part of it all. If he wasn't God, and he wasn't God's prophet, that made him a victim of iconoclastic ideology. 

It was all too much to think about, and he suddenly felt very tired. 

Excessive blood loss from cutting along with being anemic probably wasn't his most brilliant idea, but he'd never reveal to Charles that he was struggling with that. 

Was it too much to ask to be able to connect with another human being? Was that selfish of him? If he asked Charles, he'd insist that it wasn't, and that he'd try harder to be that person, but it always felt empty. 

"Why would you let me use a razor to cut your wrist." 

It wasn't a query. It was a demand. 

". . . If it's what you wanted, then you probably had a reason behind it, right? So, I let you so you could prove your point." 

How idiotic. 

In that moment, he came upon the comparison of a situation Charles had told him about, where Henrietta had forced him to sit there and say it wasn't his fault. 

This was kind of his thing, it seemed. To agree. To go along with it. And Vincent hated it. 

He wanted to comfort him, just as he knew Charles desired to also provide that feeling. But they were too disjointed. There was no solace in any touch. 

It was ironic. 

Vincent would toss himself off of a building with no warning if given the chance, and with enough of a bad day. But Charles was the one he felt was too far gone to save. 

"Can you help me clean my arm?" 


	3. goddammit, i'm sorry

and so he did. 

with saline solution in hand accompanied with gauze from his backpack, charles was working away diligently at each individual gash, a cool, damp washcloth also at his leisure. 

it felt intimate. 

as he dressed the wounds, he could visibly see the tear droplets making marks on the bandages. he didn't say anything. 

when finished, he pressed his lips to each of vincent's purple knuckles. they weren't extremely discolored, just enough to be noticed if one looked carefully enough. 

it wasn't late. 

vincent winced at each kiss. 

charles really would do anything to make this man happy, but it never seemed to be the correct kind of "doing." 

"Lay down with me." 

yet another demand, rather than a request. but that was okay. vincent was still visibly upset, for the first time in forever, so clearly, that was grounds for charles to obey his wishes. 

setting aside the makeshift first aid, charles joined him on the twin sized mattress, careful not to touch him, for both of their sake. to his delight, vincent took his hand in his own, and held it close to his chest. they lay facing one another, but neither particularly took the opportunity to observe the other. 

"There's something you should know." 

charles felt his entire body tense. 

what had gotten into vincent? they never disclosed secrets to one another. 

well, charles often told vincent things, but not vice versa. 

"I'm extremely light headed." 

oh, charles thought, instantaneously making the feasible connection. vincent had issues with blood. he had just lost a significant amount of blood. of course he wasn't feeling well. 

even a child could've come to that hypothesis, but apparently, charles was too caught up elsewhere. 

"I could go out and get you something to eat." 

"I don't want you to leave." he sounded small, which was odd for such a cult of personality type. 

"We have lettuce, I could make you a salad." 

". . . I want you to stay with me." 

charles felt like his entire body had gone limp, so despite his anxiety about his lover's wellbeing, he didn't mind lying there next to him. 

"You don't mean that, do you?" 

he expected the response to hurt, and based on the pause he was given, charles was half certain he wasn't ever going to get a clear cut response. 

and he was met with exactly that coldness. the emotions that had just been thrown up all over the table were now gone, and he returned to his uninterested, icy self. 

"You're right. I probably don't."

he tried not to be upset by it. it was just how vince was. "I wish you wouldn't hurt yourself." 

"Mmm. How did you describe me in your writing, again? Hopelessly suicidal and prone to self harm?" 

. . . 

so, that's where his personal journal had disappeared over a week ago to. vince had taken it. he thought he left it in his car or something. that was . . . upsetting. 

"I don't take your belongings." 

"I have nothing for you to take." 

his responses were always so instant, he always wondered where one could get such a reactionary ability. he was careful with his words, but never seemed to think them over. 

"That's why you mentioned Charlotte the other day." 

"Mmm." 

charles missed henrietta right now, which was strange. at the very least anri would hold his hand with warmth in her fingers, and insist everything was going to be okay.

vincent was the exact opposite of miss warhol. and he loved him. but right now, he felt so disconnected. 

their hands eventually untangled, as vince drifted asleep. it was a small victory, as this was uncommon . . . they both had such difficulty getting any sort of rest, generally. 

so charles removed himself from the mattress, shut off the buzzing, cheap light, and shut the door. it was 10 pm. and he was going to call anri, but he ensured that he went outside the apartment to the sidewalk. 

just a precaution, since vincent had gone through his notebook. 

standing outside, it wasn't particularly cold, so he dialled the number, and waited. she wasn't asleep, he knew that much. she got off of work at 8 pm. 

"Eyler?" she did sound tired, though. 

"Miss Warhol."

"Oh, shut up. Don't do that. What do you want?"

"Can I not just want to talk to you?" he had a teasing tone, knowing she didn't mind him contacting her. they stayed in touch, frequently. she usually texted him throughout the day. 

anri paused slightly before giving her response. "What'd he do this time?" ah, that's right. she usually called him, not the other way around. if he wanted to talk, he sent her a message, not a phone call. 

"Ah." charles sat down on the curb, knowing he'd change his clothes right after he got back inside. his voice hushed, when beginning to explain. "Nothing. I got home and he was . . . hurting himself." 

"You're not telling me everything, Charlie. Come on. I know that voice. You're desperate to talk to me." she joked, and he cracked a thin smile in response. 

"Don't get mad." 

"Oh, I will. Don't worry."

yeah, it was futile to ask that of her. 

"He cut my arm. And my notebook I've been concerned about . . . he has it, so. He read that. I think that's why he's angry with me today." 

"Excuse me?" the playfulness left their conversation. "He did what? Why the fuck would that freak cut you?" 

wincing, he hated when she referred to him with such derogatory terms, but it was anri, after all. 

"He wanted to know what color the blood I saw was." 

"Charlie, I know you're a delusional little weirdo sometimes, but we're on like, the same page, right. You know that's not okay." 

". . . Okay. He just wanted to explain something to me." he suddenly felt small. 

she scoffed. "And he didn't even end up explaining. Right? He does this all the time. You let him do whatever to prove his point, and nothing really comes of it." pausing to think for a moment, she clicked her tongue. "You should come here tonight. So I know he's not being a weird fuck and that you're okay." 

that wasn't an option, which they both knew, but it was nice to hear. 

"I wouldn't leave him alone. He's asleep." 

"Not like he'd be devastated over you being gone a night. He's like a cat, Charlie, you could leave him for a week and he probably wouldn't notice you left."

. . . would he really not? 

"I appreciate your offer, Miss Warhol." 

"How big were his? Did he cut you deep?"

glancing down to the mark, he tried to properly assess it now that he wasn't with the person that caused it. it was small, relatively, but certainly in a few layers of skin. 

"His were somewhat bad. Mine is ok. He wasn't feeling well but wouldn't let me help." 

"Sounds like him. Charlie, what was he even trying to explain to you?" 

taking a deep breath, he knew this was going to elicit some comments from her. 

"His blood is lavender. Mine isn't." 

so she knew to choose her words carefully. 

"You haven't been taking your medicine." 

he couldn't answer. 

"Why? You know when you take it, you have less of an issue with him. Do you want to have him doing this shit to you? Charlie, you have to take it. You can't just randomly decide that you're fine and you don't need it." 

he hadn't told anyone yet. not even vince. he didn't want to be a burden to explain it, even if it didn't take many words to tell. 

"It's okay, I'm sorry for bothering you tonight." 

"Shut up. Tell me why you're being an idiot." 

"I'm not."

"Charles Eyler, tell me what happened to your fucking medication before I show up at your apartment and shove it down your throat." 

"I can't afford it right now." he swallowed thickly. "Between paying rent and groceries, I haven't been able to work as much because of my courses." 

she sighed. he could feel her pinching his nose over the phone in frustration. 

"We're discussing this in person tomorrow. Call me after class. We're getting lunch." 

he knew he had no choice. 

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Don't let crazy kill you overnight." 

"Anri . . . he won't, he's okay." 

and so she hung up. 

returning to their small apartment, he was ready to shower, change into fresh not-work clothes, and possibly fall asleep on their couch, as to not disturb vincent's sleeping body, as much as he preferred to be laying with him. 

charles eyler was exhausted, in every facet of the word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will maybe write something as anri's perspective or another vincent chapter next, but im going out of town for a week, so we'll see when im able to update, thanks for reading


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to go through and rename the chapters, eventually.

he never showed up to lunch with anri. 

he never showed up to class, neither, and his phone was blowing up with endless text messages of a hurt, blown-off henrietta warhol, and a classmate asking of his whereabouts. 

when charles eyler had risen to his alarm, he hadn't expected vincent to be absolutely wrapped around his entire frame. strategically working his way around his current predicament, he managed to power down his buzzing cellular device without even making vince stir in his slumber. 

curious that it was only the notification to remind him to see anri that went off, and not the ones much earlier in the morning to go to class. 

everything felt normal, even if it was for a brief while. charles' back was pressed to the mattress while his partner lay atop him, light grey hair spilling over his shoulder and into his face, tickling his nose. 

anri was so insistent to call vincent a psychopathic god complex, but it was just . . . so hard to fathom that such a gentle figure that was snoring against his neck could be capable of any harm. 

he wouldn't dare even shift his weight, cautious to allow vincent undisturbed rest, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. luckily their blinds kept the sun away from their quiet bliss. 

charles caught his breath when he felt vincent's hands become sentient, however. 

"Good morning." 

"I believe it would be a good afternoon by now, wouldn't it?" 

he couldn't lie and say that sleepy tone of voice didn't make his insides absolutely melt to a puddle. the figure didn't move, and they remained intertwined, vincent only slightly readjusting himself to have his lips against charles' ear. 

going from only hand holding the previous night to such an intimate position was . . . unusual, but not unwanted. 

"As much as I enjoy this, I think it would be best if we sanitized your cuts before you run the ri—" 

he was cut off abruptly by vincent's nearly instant rejection, the smaller man protesting anything that would help his wellbeing. 

"They don't need to be sanitized or bandaged or taken care of. They don't even hurt anymore, Charles. Don't talk about them." 

charles pressed his fingers to the clearly open wound that was dug into his lover's wrist. vince hissed in reply, frustrated at his lack of control in this scenario. 

"Fine. They hurt, I will allow you to wash them later." 

"But—" 

"Care to tell me about your conversation with Miss Warhol?" 

. . . radio silence. he felt vincent's lips curl into a thin smile, gesturing away from his ear, now. 

it was clear that vince had been awake earlier and looked through charles' phone. 

"You turned off my alarms for school." 

he couldn't be angry. 

vincent often behaved like this, in an act of control. he'd win the argument before it even began, that's just how he was. 

"Once more, would you care to talk about Miss Warhol, or may I go back to sleep?" 

with no response to be given, vincent's nose was placed into the crook of charles' neck, and they fit together like a puzzle piece, pushing off their inevitable one-sided fight until later in the day. 


End file.
